


Scarecrow & Mr. Flynn (Season 1)

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Scarecrow and Mr. Flynn [1]
Category: Scarecrow and Mrs. King, Tron (1982), Tron (Movies), Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Crack, Crossover, First Kiss, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Canon, Romance, Schmoop, Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 18,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of a widowed computer genius and a spy whom he fell in with.<br/>(<a href="http://dreamlittleyo.livejournal.com/183897.html">Master Post</a> on LJ)</p><div class="center">
<br/><img/></div>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daunt/gifts).



"Look, Mr.... what did you say your name was?"

"Stetson," the man in the classy suit says, looking annoyed. "Lee Stetson."

"Kevin Flynn. Nice to meet you. So look. I'm sorry you were in a pinch, and I'm _really_ sorry those guys worked you over so hard—," because god, when Flynn got on that train it looked like they were beating the tar right out of him, though Stetson's face doesn't look all that messed up now. "But I don't know you. I've got no reason to trust you. And even though I tried to do what you asked, you're standing in the middle of my arcade _yelling_ at me. So back off, would you?"

Stetson looks surlier now, and Flynn can't help thinking he looks a hell of a lot like Alan Bradley would look if the man ever lost those ridiculous glasses and learned how to dress. Or like Tron if he stepped off the Grid and into a real set of threads. Either way, the similarity is striking.

"I asked you to give the package to the man in the red hat," Stetson says with an air of strained, deliberate calm. "It wasn't a difficult instruction."

"Says you," Kevin mutters, but it looks like this conversation is going to take more than thirty seconds so he sighs and gestures behind him, towards the door that leads to the back room and his old apartment. The apartment is as empty as this arcade has become—now that Flynn has responsibilities more important than running a noisy teenage Mecca—and Flynn's honestly not even sure how Stetson found him here.

"For the record," Flynn says, leading the way, "there were _thirty guys_ in red hats on that train. What the hell was I supposed to do?" It had been a goddamn Shriner convention. Literally, Flynn is pretty sure. He's pretty sure picking a hat at random would've been the wrong way to go.

"Fine," Stetson says. "As long as you still have the package. Can I have it back please?"

He still looks annoyed as he follows Flynn up the stairs and into the apartment beyond. There's not much here now. Just the low, sprawling couch that Flynn couldn't bear to part with, the bed in the far corner, and the fridge he still keeps stocked with beer.

It's the fridge he angles for now. He takes out two bottles and says, "No."

And now they're back to irate.

"Look, if you're just going to waste my time—"

"Here," Flynn cuts him off, cracking off both caps on the edge of the counter and handing over one of the bottles. "And I'm not trying to waste your time. It's just. Your package isn't here."

"Where is it?"

"Somewhere safe," says Flynn. At Stetson's skeptical look, he adds, "Hey, I didn't know who you were. I didn't know how to contact you. You could be with the mafia for all I know."

"I'm not with the mafia," Stetson says. The words come out low and rough. It almost sounds like a growl. Flynn's pretty sure he shouldn't enjoy it as much as he does.

"Okay. Excellent. Who _are_ you with, then. If you don't mind my asking."

From the pained look that settles across Stetson's features, he minds very much. But Flynn just quirks an eyebrow, raises his beer to his lips and takes a swallow. That package isn't just safely hidden. It's safely hidden on the Grid, with Tron standing guard and no chance of anyone stumbling across it by mistake.

Stetson's not getting _any_ package without some attempt at explaining himself.

The point must come across well enough, because eventually Stetson sighs and tosses back a swallow of his own drink.

"I'm with the U.S. Government," Stetson says.

"Radical," says Flynn, though of course he's not entirely sold. "Can I see some I.D.?"

Stetson sighs, takes another sip of beer. Then reaches into the front of his coat and takes out a fancy leather case, flipping it open to reveal the badge inside.

"Huh," says Flynn. "Fair enough. Tell you what. You come back tomorrow night. Say… eleven o'clock? And you can have your package back. I won't even open it."

"Tomorrow night could be too late," Stetson says. "That package contains vital information. It could help us uncover an internal leak that's been getting our agents killed left and right."

"Oh," says Flynn. "Well. Fuck." He glances around. Feels suddenly guilty and a little uncomfortable. He can't very well show Lee Stetson his secret lair. He sure as hell can't show him the Grid. Which… kind of limits his options for retrieving the package with Stetson himself standing in Flynn's former living room.

"Okay, um. Look. This is going to sound silly, but I need you to sit on that couch." He points and Stetson turns to look. "Yeah. That one right there. I need you to just… sit there. And not move. And I'll be back in less than an hour, okay?"

Stetson looks skeptical, but he instantly moves to comply.

"I'll be right back," says Flynn, and heads down into the arcade.

The music is turned up high enough that he's not worried Stetson will be able to track his movements by sound. And there's no direct view of the Tron machine—and thus the secret door—from the windows of the apartment. But just the same Flynn moves fast, glancing repeatedly over his shoulder.

He's in and out of the Grid in less than ten real-world minutes. He waits another forty before returning to the apartment where Stetson is still sitting there with a quietly put-upon look on his face.

"Here," he says, tossing the package into his guest's lap. "I hope it's useful."

"Thank you," says Stetson. An actual smile settles across his face as he sets his beer aside and stands.

"You'll let me know how it goes, won't you?" Flynn says, not sure why he feels a need to tease. "With that internal leak of yours?"

"Of course not," says Stetson. But his smile spreads a little wider.

Flynn follows him down the stairs, back towards the front entrance of the empty, brightly-lit arcade. He unlocks the door, letting Stetson back out onto the sidewalk. There's a ridiculously nice Porsche parked on the far side of the street, and Stetson heads straight for it.

"Hey!" Flynn calls before the man can get into his car.

Stetson pauses just outside the driver's side door, fingers curled around sleek metal.

"Call me!" Flynn says with a wave and a smirk.

Stetson laughs and drives away.


	2. There Goes the Neighborhood

"I can't believe you made me sell cosmetics door to door," Flynn mutters darkly, shoes squishing in the freshly watered grass as they move through the park. He brushes at his hair in a self-conscious gesture—still feels like he might have glitter all over him from that stupid sparkling archway. "Golden Circle Girl my ass."

"Hey, you volunteered for that part all on your own," Stetson says with a smirk. "All _I_ needed was a mooching, jobless live-in brother to complete the presentation and make me look better by comparison."

"Please," Flynn snorts. "Like any of those people thought we were actually _brothers_."

"I _beg_ your pardon," Stetson says sharply.

"Trust me," Flynn says. "That is _not_ why Billy told you to bring me in." Stetson is staring at him with wide, startled eyes—an expression that's more amusing than anything else—and Flynn continues, "Anyway, Harriet was very persuasive. And I wasn't a bad sales-lady, if I do say so myself."

"Clearly," Stetson snorts, recovering quickly from his discomfited surprise. Then, face falling unexpectedly somber, he says, "Thank you. I'm sorry about the whole almost-getting-you-killed-by-smugglers thing."

"Hey, no big," says Flynn. Even though for a moment or three back there he was seriously fucking terrified that he might be on the verge of making Sam—god, fuck, _Sam_ , what was he thinking?—an orphan.

An awkward silence settles between them—the kind where neither one of them wants to acknowledge that this might be the last time their paths cross. Two run-ins with a secret agent: that's two more than Flynn is probably entitled to. It's too bad, though. Lee Stetson is honestly starting to grow on him.

Plus, he's not too hard on the eyes.

"So," Flynn says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "What _was_ in those hair dryers?"

"Weapons," says Stetson. "Firearms, mostly." A considering look crosses his face, and he says, "Want to grab a beer? I could tell you all about it."

Flynn laughs, smile spreading across his face, and wow, he is seriously tempted. His curiosity is a palpable force, for one thing. And he's not quite ready to let Lee Stetson wander out of his life, for another.

But he's already late, and he reluctantly shakes his head.

"I can't tonight," he says. "I promised I'd take Sam to the arcade. But rain check, okay?"

"Sure," says Stetson. Flynn thinks he must be imagining the flicker of disappointment he sees in the man's eyes. "Some other time."

Flynn supposes they're done here. The moment is stretching out awkwardly again, and he should probably start walking. His car is parked several blocks away.

"Sam is your son?" Stetson asks suddenly.

"Yeah," says Flynn. "He's a great kid. Just turned five. I'd say you should meet him one of these days, but—"

"But considering my line of work, it's probably better if I don't," Stetson finishes easily. Flynn smiles. He appreciates that he didn't have to say it himself.

Stetson looks like he has something more to say—some question on the tip of his tongue—but in the end he must decide against it, because he just holds out his hand and says, "Well. Until next time, I guess."

Flynn accepts the hand, gives it a firm shake, and says, "Next time." Even though he's pretty sure they both know this is it. Stetson will step back into his world of espionage and high stakes adventure. Flynn will go back to his mega-corporation and his own world of the gaming Grid. Their paths will probably never cross again.

After all, how many times can he possibly get tangled up in this spy business before the government finally decides to leave him alone?


	3. If Thoughts Could Kill

"So the lab is being dismantled… Glaser and his pal were picked up about an hour ago… Case closed." Lee looks downright smug as he follows Flynn through the door, out of Billy's office and into the empty hallway.

Flynn still can't quite get over the fact that he had to ride down to the Agency's lower levels in a _coat closet_

He also can't quite get over the residual adrenaline rush.

"Look, um. Next time you land yourself in the hospital, do you think you could try _not_ to get suckered into any creepy mind control experiments?" Because that was almost really bad. Flynn doesn't want to think about how things _might_ have gone down.

"Hey. I didn't get suckered into anything. They drugged me."

"Yeah, well, you freaked me the hell out," Flynn mutters, nudging Lee with an elbow. "So don't do it next time." The smile Lee turns on him might be a little too humoring, but Flynn smiles back anyway.

They reach the elevator at the end of the hall, and it's time for goodbye again. Somehow, this time Flynn has a feeling he'll be seeing more of Lee Stetson.

He's not sure what he should say now, but he opens his mouth anyway.

"So," he says, trying not to sound too much like he's fumbling. "I have to get home to my kid, but one of these days you should totally cash in on that rain check."

"I will," Lee promises. And then, face turning more serious, adds, "I don't want to pry, but… can I ask a personal question?"

"Hit me," says Flynn.

"You've mentioned your son several times," says Lee, looking hesitant. "But you never talk about your wife."

Lee's eyes have drifted down to Flynn's left hand—to the gold band Flynn still wears on his ring finger—and it's been almost two years but the question still hits him hard enough to make his breath catch sharply in his chest.

"That's," Flynn tries to start. Fails, pauses to breathe. "Jordan. She's... Fuck, sorry, I just. Jordan died a couple years ago."

Lee's face falls, awkward and instantaneous, and he says, " _Oh_. God, I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"No, no it's. It's okay. I just figured you already knew. You're supposed to be some kind of Super Spy, aren't you?" He's being transparent, and he knows it. His desperation to lighten the mood is a palpable force, heavy in his chest, and he's grateful when Lee forces a smile in response.

"They tend to frown on using company resources for personal projects."

"Oh, so now I'm a 'personal project'," Flynn mutters. He does feel better, though, as Lee's smile settles a little more naturally across his face—as Lee gives a nonchalant shrug and lets his gaze dart down the empty hallway before returning his attention to Flynn.

"Something like that," Lee concedes.

As the ache in his chest subsides beneath more immediate distractions, Flynn decides he likes the sound of that.


	4. Magic Bus

A wilderness hike wasn't really what Flynn had in mind when he agreed to help the Agency recover its stolen weapons unit. For one thing, he hates mosquitoes. For another, he's always been more of a computer screen, night-owl kind of guy. This whole excursion involves a little too much nature and broad daylight for his tastes.

On the other hand, Lee couldn't very well have come without him. Not when Flynn was the one their targets actually _invited_ on this crazy wilderness retreat—certainly not when Flynn is the only one who's actually seen the weasel-faced man they're supposed to be looking for.

In the meantime, Flynn really can't complain about the view. Lee should find excuses to wear shorts more often.

The foliage thins out around them and the rest of the group seems to be collapsing to the ground for a unanimous break. Flynn is more than happy to follow suit. He feels sweaty and sore and ready to be back in his air-conditioned office, or better yet, within the always-cool contours of the Grid.

Lee drops tiredly onto the grass beside him, and Flynn is heartened by the fact that he looks nearly as exhausted as Flynn feels.

The two of them are relatively isolated, some fifteen feet from the nearest member of the group, but Flynn still figures their current mission for a topic best avoided. He searches his mind for something less substantial to say.

"I've never seen your legs before," he finally says.

Lee's mouth curves up with a hint of a smirk. "So? What do you think?" Something about the way he says it hits Flynn less like a smug retort and more like genuine curiosity. Or, god help him, an invitation.

If they weren't surrounded by such a crowd, Flynn might be tempted to do something remarkably stupid right about now.

As it is, he ignores any unfortunate urges and cocks his head to the side. He dons a considering expression, and finally says, "Not bad."

For an instant, Lee almost looks offended.

Then he shakes his head and laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. Flynn can't help but smile in return, and he settles back more comfortably, bracing himself on his arms and letting his own legs—every bit as shapely as Lee's, thank you very much—splay out in front of him.

It puts his ankles precariously close to Lee's space. Flynn's pretty sure he doesn't imagine the brief downward flicker of Lee's gaze.

"So it occurs to me that I barely know anything about you," Flynn says conversationally.

"There's not much _to_ know," Lee hedges. His tone is light, but there's a hint of caution in his eyes.

"Bullshit," says Flynn. "The work you do, the things you know… I'm sure you've lived an interesting life."

Lee sighs, eyes darting around the clearing—surveying the nearest groups and apparently deeming them far enough away for propriety, because finally he returns his gaze to Flynn and says, "What do you want to know?"

Flynn thinks for a moment, and finally drops his voice to just above a whisper and asks, "Why is your code name Scarecrow?"

He's not expecting the whole truth, but he's expecting _something_ , and so it surprises him when Lee's expression instantly shutters.

"That's very personal," Lee says.

"Oh, come _on_ —"

"I'm sorry, you just happened to pick the one question that—"

"Okay, fine, different question. Um. Have you ever been married?"

And it's possible Lee was going to answer, but Flynn is pretty sure his expression says otherwise even before the group leader starts shouting at them to get their butts off the ground and get moving.

Curious as Flynn is, he already knows he won't be pressing the issue.

"Come on," he says, hurrying to his feet and offering Lee a hand up. "Race you to the zip line."


	5. The ACM Kid

If it weren't for Sam, Kevin might never even have realized the kid was sneaking out. Which is downright embarrassing, considering he told Lee a matter of hours ago that it was all under control—that he could keep an eye on Aleksei, keep him safe, while Lee focused on infiltrating the organization holding Aleksei's parents hostage.

It's almost three a.m. and Flynn will be crashing out soon—any minute now, really. Just as soon as he finishes this last line of code.

It's amazing how much longer everything takes on this side of a computer screen.

His office at home is down a long hallway from the kitchen, at the opposite end of the house from Sam's bedroom and the guestroom where he deposited Aleksei.

"Daddy?" Sam says, drawing Kevin's attention to the doorway. He's wearing powder-blue pajamas and his hair is awkwardly rumpled. He rubs sleep from his eyes as he moves into the room.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" Kevin asks, sliding his chair away from the desk and opening his arms to welcome his son. Sam crawls easily onto his lap, and Kevin wraps him in a hug. Sam's hair tickles his chin.

"How long is Aleksei staying with us?" Sam asks.

"I don't know, buddy. Maybe a couple more days. Just until Lee finishes helping his parents out of a tough spot."

"Oh," Sam mumbles sleepily. Then, after a protracted pause, "I don't like him."

"Lee?" Kevin asks in surprise.

"No," Sam says. "Aleksei."

Kevin doesn't have to ask why. He feels bad for Aleksei—kid's gotten a shit hand of cards and knows it. He's genuinely scared for his parents, and that fear permeates everything he says and does. And Kevin can tell, too, that the kid has a good heart. There's no way Lee could've talked him into babysitting if that weren't the case—he's got Sam to think of, and damned if he's going to feel guilty for putting his own son's needs first.

But there's a quiet desperation running below the surface—something calculating and pragmatic that sets off warning bells in Flynn's head. It's why he's here tonight—why he's working in his office here at home even though Mom and Dad are asleep just down the hall.

"That's okay, kiddo," Kevin says. "You don't have to like him. Just play nice for a couple more days, and hopefully he'll get to go home to his parents, okay?"

"Okay," says Sam.

Quiet extends again, seconds stretching into minutes, and Kevin wonders if Sam has fallen asleep in his arms. He shifts minutely in his seat, wondering how best to carry Sam back to bed without waking him, and is surprised when Sam stirs and speaks.

"Lee is fine though." He says it like something serious—as though his silence of the past few moments was a result of deep thoughts instead of the fact that it's hours past his bedtime.

"What about Lee?" Kevin asks.

"He's nice. I like him." Sam shifts in his arms, pushing back so he can look Kevin in the eye. He doesn't look sleepy at all now as he says, "Can he come over more?"

Kevin blinks in surprise. For a moment he has no idea how to respond. Lee is complicated, in ways Kevin's not sure he can explain to a five-year-old boy.

Finally he settles on, "We'll see." Sam looks unsatisfied with the response and more than a little skeptical, but Kevin's not about to make any promises he might not be able to keep.

"Now," Kevin says, standing with a flourish and hoisting Sam up into his arms. "Let's get you back to bed. What are you doing awake at this hour, anyway?"

"Oh!" Sam says, arms wrapping around Kevin's neck. "I needed to tell you. I forgot."

"Forgot what, buddy?"

The hallway carpet is smooth beneath his bare feet as he carries Sam towards his room.

"I think Aleksei snuck out the window. I heard something outside, and his room is empty."

Oh. Fuck.


	6. Always Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth

Penny is pacing, frustrated and flustered, and Flynn's not entirely sure how he got here.

"Now so much of my husband's time is spent buried in meetings and crises. We argue all the time, mostly about Beau and that oil lease." She runs agitated hands through dark, meticulous hair, and finally moves to sit at the far end of the couch. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe that's not even the issue."

It's a little surreal to find himself an angry princess's confidant, and Flynn's eyes dart around the opulent royal guest quarters as he tries to figure out how to respond.

He's saved—more like betrayed—by the surprised expression that crosses his face when he sees Lee peering in through the window.

Flynn tries to cover his look of revelation, but he's not fast enough. Penny is already turning towards the window, and a warm smirk crosses her face as she catches an unmistakable glimpse of the uninvited agent disappearing behind a bush.

"Oh _ho_ ," Penny murmurs, standing from the couch and sashaying towards the dark window.

"This is not an oh-ho moment," Kevin blurts without rising from his own corner of the couch. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for—"

"Of course there is." Penny turns from the now empty window and locks him with a warm, amused look. "Don't worry, you'll get no judgment from me."

"It's really not what you think," Kevin hedges, but he knows a losing battle when he runs face first into one.

"There's no need to be shy. I've already come to terms with the fact that the only fun I'm having this weekend is you." She tilts her head to the side and the gesture looks almost playful. "You're just going to have to man up and have enough fun for the both of us. I'll just… be off to bed now, shall I?"

"Princess—"

"Don't worry, I'll stay out of your hair." She's already backing away, towards the narrow hall leading to what Kevin assumes is an expensive bedroom suite, and he has to twist around on the couch to keep her in sight. "Have a good time. You can tell me all about it later."

And then she's gone, and Flynn is staring at a blank wall instead of a smirking princess.

There's a light tapping at the window behind him, and Kevin rolls his eyes as he turns around and gestures at Lee to come in already. The window squeaks a little as it opens, but it's more than tall enough for a grown man to maneuver easily through.

"Hi!" says Lee, grinning wide as he steps into the room.

"I thought I was supposed to be undercover, man," says Flynn. Lee drops into the nearest chair and blinks at him in confusion.

"You are. Why, is anything wrong?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. Of course not. That was a very subtle performance you gave at the window. Lucky for you, she thinks you're here in a personal capacity."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The lack of comprehension on Lee's face makes Kevin smile despite himself.

"She thinks you're cute."

"I am cute."

"She also thinks we're going to fuck."

"Oh." Now understanding settles across Lee's face, and his brow crinkles in an expression that leaves Kevin stifling a laugh.

Flynn gives it a moment. He's curious how Lee will respond, but Lee just sits there blinking at him like he can't quite process the information.

Flynn's not sure it counts as taking pity, but he nods at the space beside him and says, "C'mere."

Lee moves apprehensively, but he settles on the cushion immediately beside Kevin, eyebrows high in unspoken inquiry.

Kevin's smile widens, and he wonders if Lee can read the intent in his eyes as he says, "Now. Hold still."

Then he raises a hand to the back of Lee's neck and, fast and smooth, Kevin leans in and presses his mouth to Lee's in an unapologetic kiss.

He doesn't intend to get carried away. He's not sure _what_ his purpose is, exactly, but it probably involves making some sort of point. Never mind that he's been itching to do this anyway, or that he'd have done it sooner if he could be sure of his reception.

Lee freezes to stillness, but he doesn't immediately pull away. Flynn takes that as a good sign. He touches Lee's lower lip lightly with his tongue, testing and tentative, and after a moment's delay, Lee's lips part just far enough to feel like an invitation.

Kevin makes a soft, pleased sound as he deepens the kiss, but he doesn't have long to revel in the victory. He's just pressing closer, just starting to reach for Lee with his other hand, when Lee jolts back, jerking against Flynn's hold and breaking the kiss.

Lee's eyes are wide, his mouth open in a stunned expression.

"Kevin, what the hell?"

Flynn considers his alternatives in the span of a heartbeat. He could call Lee out—point out that they were just about to finally _get_ somewhere, if he could just put off freaking out for a little while. He could keep his mouth shut and move right back in—something tells him if he pushed a little harder Lee wouldn't have much lasting protest in him. Or he could focus on the job, which is why they're really here, and try _not_ to fuck up the awesome working relationship they've finally begun to develop.

He already knows which path he has to take.

"There," Kevin says, shifting back towards his own corner of the couch and giving Lee more space. "Now our cover story is a little more authentic." He keeps his expression easy, his shoulders slouched as casually as he can. "Didn't you have something to tell me? Or were you just skulking around the bushes for the hell of it?"

Lee blinks at him for a moment, but he catches up fast, and he straightens his shoulders and adjusts his tie.

"Whoever tried to kill the prince the other day was supposedly working for Endicott roofing," Lee says.

"Radical. Tell me more."


	7. Service Above and Beyond

Kevin's not expecting Lee to be waiting for him in his own study, impatient expression on his face and a glass of Flynn's best whiskey in his hand.

Kevin is already exhausted. Nothing quite like playacting his way through a fake date for five hours—no matter how attractive a man the mark might be—to really drain him down. But despite how tired he is, Kevin feels himself perk instantly up at the sight of Lee leaning against his desk.

"It's way after midnight, Cinderella," Lee says. He takes a sip of whiskey and arches his eyebrows meaningfully.

"What are you doing here?" Kevin asks as he tosses his jacket over a chair and undoes the top buttons of his shirt.

"Someone ripped off his microphone in the men's room. It left me with a lot of time to kill since there wasn't much point in surveillance of an unmic'd rendezvous."

"Hey, yeah, I guess that would kind of throw a wrench in your plans. Sorry about that."

Kevin moves for the narrow liquor cabinet in the corner and pours himself a drink.

"Aren't you going to tell me about your evening?" Lee asks, still perching comfortably against Flynn's desk. Like he belongs in this space. Kevin throws a look over his shoulder and decides that, yeah, Lee can definitely stay.

"There's not much to tell," he says.

"Kevin," Lee says, sounding suddenly impatient. "We went to a lot of trouble setting this thing up. There were a lot of messy logistics involved in searching Delano's house."

"What did you find out?" Kevin moves back across the room, drops down on the low couch beneath the window. He sprawls back easily, comfortably, and gestures with his free hand to indicate the cushion beside him.

Lee moves to join him, claiming the far end of the couch instead of the cushion immediately to Kevin's left, but it's still an improvement.

"Unfortunately not much," Lee admits. "We went through Hollander's things. Found some money, a passport, an airline ticket to Munich…"

"Wait, who's Hollander?" Kevin just spent the last five hours learning Delano's life story in rosy detail, and he's pretty sure he didn't hear that name.

"He's working with Delano," Lee explains patiently. "His plane ticket is for Sunday, which means they're going to make their move between now and then. Now." Lee locks Flynn in a surprisingly intent look and says, "What were you saying about your evening?"

"I wasn't," Kevin says, letting the corner of his mouth quirk up just enough to rile the agent staring at him from across the couch. He knows there's blatant flirtation in his expression. He knows his refusal to answer must be wreaking havoc with Lee's calm façade, if the blatant—however unrealized—jealousy he's been displaying since Delano's first party is anything to go by.

Lee's eyebrows draw together just slightly, just enough to convey his disapproval, and Kevin takes a sip of his drink.

"Look," Lee says, eyes intense and serious. "It's none of my business, but trust me. James Delano is no one you want to get involved with. I don't care how genuine he seems. He's nothing but your typical slimy playboy type."

"Obviously." Kevin rolls his eyes and sets his drink aside. "Lee, come on. It's not like I'm picking out china patterns with the guy. But what's the harm? He's attractive, he's fun… If I have to let him pursue me for the sake of national security, I don't see why I can't have a good time along the way."

"He's trouble," Lee insists darkly.

"Jesus, man, chill out," Kevin laughs. "It was just a few drinks. And a little making out. No big deal. Hell, he's not a bad kisser."

Except clearly it _is_ a big deal, Kevin thinks as he watches Lee's eyes widen at the admission. Yes, Lee Stetson is _definitely_ jealous. But he denied it before, and he'll deny it just as adamantly now. And maybe it's cruel to mess with him this way, but Kevin smiles and narrows his eyes, letting his expression turn considering.

"It's kind of like a fantasy, you know?" Kevin says. "It's not real. And you know it can't last, but it's still fun in the meantime."

"You're incorrigible," Lee says, eyes cutting away as he raises his glass to his lips.

"I used to have fantasies about secret agents," Kevin says, and his smile widens when Lee nearly chokes on his last sip of whiskey.

Lee's eyes are comically wide when he turns them on Flynn. They stare at each other for the kind of long moment that makes Kevin wonder if making a move might just get him somewhere.

But Lee moves first, and it's to stand from the couch and escape across the room. He beelines for the liquor cabinet and pours himself a second glass of whiskey. Takes a sip. Steadies himself. Finally he turns his eyes and attention back on Kevin.

"We want you to continue your relationship with James Delano," Lee says.

"Wait, why?" Kevin asks, feeling his own eyes eyebrows rise with confusion. "I distracted him. You searched his house. What more can you possibly need me for?"

"We're convinced he's going to receive some sensitive information," Lee explains. "Billy wants you to get yourself invited to a party Delano is giving Saturday night."

"Is that all?"

"It may not be that easy," Lee says, starting to pace in front of the couch. He continues talking, a stream of smooth instruction, and Kevin watches, trying—and mostly failing—to suppress a smile. "He may not call you again. Though, admittedly, he does seem very interested in you. If he doesn't call in a day or two you'll have to call him. Say something about Saturday, ask him if he has any plans… Try and put him in a position where he _has_ to invite you because you'll find out about the party. Then we'll work out a scenario… wh…" Lee finally trails off when he catches sight of the grin that's overtaken Flynn's face.

"Kevin," Lee says, sounding exasperated. "This is a delicate situation."

"No problem," Kevin says. "He invited me last night." The unhappy shock that distorts Lee's face would probably, by itself, make the evening worthwhile. "Now. What do you want me to do?"

 

\- — - — - — - — - — -

The party doesn't go as planned. It's supposed to be safe. Kevin's job is as simple as giving the signal and letting Lee in the back door.

But somehow he ends up with a gun pointed at his head and then a syringe in his arm, and then the world dissolves to empty distortions and darkness and the vague sense of someone yelling nearby.

When the world comes back it's still too garbled to decipher, but Lee is there—Lee looks _awful_ , sweaty and bruised and completely terrified—and Kevin tries to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, ends up touching his cheek instead. And the world may be contorting around itself right now, fluid and wavering, but he's still with it enough to think Lee will probably duck away from Kevin's hand.

But instead Lee turns _into_ the touch. He covers Kevin's hand with his own, and there's this moment—right before the world distorts back into dreams, which means he can't quite be sure it's real—when Kevin thinks he feels lips against his palm.

 

\- — - — - — - — - — -

"You've got to stop coming in the window, man," Kevin says when he opens the door to his study and finds Lee perched impatiently on the arm of his couch.

"I didn't come in the window," Lee counters gamely. "Sam let me in."

Kevin rolls his eyes but closes the door behind him. There's no drink in Lee's hand tonight. Kevin doesn't pour himself one either.

"What are you doing in my house?" Kevin asks, eyebrows arching high on his forehead.

"Oh. Just checking in," says Lee. His face falls serious and he adds, "I wanted to see if you were all right."

"I'm fine. Great even. Thanks to you."

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and watches a curious shift of expressions cascade across Lee's face. There's fierce focus for a moment, replaced seconds later by hesitation, then a deliberate blankness that Flynn doesn't buy for a second.

"Good," says Lee. "I just wanted to be sure. I should probably go now."

He stands and moves for the door, and Kevin watches his retreating back.

"Oh, hey," Kevin says when Lee's hand closes on the doorknob.

Lee stops and turns, gives Kevin a curious look.

Kevin cocks his head to the side and asks, "How'd you get me out of there?"

Lee looks almost sheepish for a moment, but it passes quickly. Replaced by a determined expression and unapologetic posture.

"I carried you," Lee says.

That's one Flynn didn't see coming.


	8. Saved by the Bells

He's standing in Lee's apartment, and Kevin is honestly not sure why he's here beyond the fact that Lee hasn't offered to drive him home.

Lee's apartment is a mess. It should also be the last place Kevin wants to find himself, considering the past twenty-four hours. Last time Kevin was here he ended up bound, gagged, stuffed in a crate and nearly shot in the head, just for starters.

But Lee's presence goes a long way towards calming his still rattled nerves, and Kevin's never been one to let fear get the best of him.

So he smiles, feigns a convincing approximation of nonchalance, and says, "I still don't get how they could have mistaken me for you. I'm so much prettier."

"Cute," Lee mutters, tossing his jacket aside and shutting the door firmly. There's amusement in his eyes and half a smile on his face when he turns. Both fade quickly into a more serious look when his eyes fall on Flynn.

Kevin considers keeping his mouth shut. This is probably one of those moments where he should be remembering something about discretion and valor. But he's still high on adrenaline—still wired and grateful and a little more freaked out than he'd like to admit. He's still coming down from the unpleasant rush of realizing he really almost died this time.

So instead of trying to keep the mood light, he takes a step towards Lee and lets his own expression fall somber.

"Thank you," he says.

Lee blinks at him and asks, "For what?"

"You committed treason to save me." Kevin's pulse beats a little faster at putting it into words. The magnitude of that sacrifice is still knocking him flat, even if everything did fall right in the end.

"They were going to kill you," Lee counters. Instantly and without thought, as though Kevin is missing the obvious.

"People die all the time," Kevin says.

"Not you," says Lee. The words are simple—almost terse—but Lee says them so fiercely Kevin nearly takes a step back.

Instead he steps forward. And forward again when Lee instinctively retreats. And then there's the closed front door, and Lee backed against it looking startled and confused, and Kevin doesn't even know what he's doing. He just knows he needs to get closer. There's a tight knot of _something_ in his chest that demands it.

He leans into Lee's space, bracing his arms against the door and bracketing Lee in on and both sides. He barely has to look up at all in order to meet Lee's eyes.

"You realize that goes for you, too," Kevin says.

"It's a dangerous job, Kevin," Lee says softly. "Sometimes things go wrong."

"Not for you they don't."

And he's pretty sure he had something else to say. He was making a point, he'd swear to it, except the words are gone in an instant when Lee grabs him by the shirt and drags him into a kiss.

Okay. Woah. That's intense on a level Kevin can't even process, and it takes him an extra beat to get with the program.

He catches up fast, though, and then he's pressing closer, taking his hands from the door and putting them to more productive uses. Lee's hair is soft between the fingers of his left hand, and the crisp material of Lee's shirt is smooth when Kevin's other hand settles at the small of his back.

Kevin's right hand drifts lower, tracing Lee's spine, and Lee gasps—all the invitation Kevin needs to part his lips and take the kiss deeper. Lee lets him in, fingers still tight in the fabric of Kevin's shirt, mouth warm and eager, and god, Kevin could do this all night, but he's starting to wonder if he should steer them in the direction of the bedroom or—

—stop all too suddenly as the phone rings.

The moment shatters with the sound. Lee and Kevin stare at each other, matching surprise mirrored on their faces. The phone rings a second time and Kevin still hasn't taken his hands off Lee. He doesn't want to. He wants the phone—and whoever's calling on the other end of the line—to fuck off and let them finish what they've started.

But the phone rings a third time, and Lee pushes past him to reach it, leaving Kevin blinking at the door. Kevin's hands fall to his sides, and he turns to look at Lee.

All he can see at this angle is Lee's back as he hunches over the phone.

"Billy, it's late. No, no, I didn't mean— Yes, of course you are. I understand. I'll be right there, just don't start without me."

Lee takes several minutes too long to turn around. Kevin doesn't rush him, and when Lee finally meets his eyes, his expression is guarded in a way that tells Kevin he'd better not mention the kiss. Not if he wants to keep Lee from running away at top speed.

"Duty calls?" Kevin asks, keeping his tone as light as he can. Lighter than he feels, anyway, with his mood suddenly split three ways between smug satisfaction, aching desire and frustration at the renewed distance he can already sense Lee rebuilding between them.

They're not going to talk about this. They're definitely not going to pick up where they left off.

"Yeah," Lee says, rubbing at the back of his neck in an uncharacteristically self-conscious gesture. "New crisis. Top priority. I have to get over there in time for the emergency briefing."

"You should probably go then."

"I guess I should," says Lee. "But I can… If you need a ride home first…"

"That would be great," says Kevin. Awkward as this car ride promises to be, it will still be better than public transportation at this hour. The other alternative is to call for a limo, but Flynn never relishes that proposition.

Besides. In a car, driving Kevin home from this side of town, Lee can't run away for a good twenty minutes. That's plenty of time for Kevin to smooth things over, bring them back to the status quo.

He's not going to be satisfied with the status quo much longer. But somehow, tonight, he feels better about it than usual.


	9. Sudden Death

Afterwards—once the bad guys have been apprehended, and the paperwork filed, and the adrenaline rush has faded to a quiet murmur in his blood—Kevin's not even sure what the mission entailed.

Football, maybe. Probably. And a squirrelly dude with a beard that Kevin actually found himself growing pretty fond of. But mostly Kevin doesn't remember the specifics. Nothing beyond the fact that the good guys won.

He's too distracted by those fucking _shorts_.

And wondering how he can convince Lee to wear them again.

 

 

\- — - — - — - — - — -  
 _Heavily inspired by[THIS](http://gryzmolic.tumblr.com/post/4636023991/seriously-seriously-how-did-he-manage-to-walk)_  
\- — - — - — - — - — -


	10. The Long Christmas Eve

The cabin is warm, the night outside is cool, and Kevin feels skepticism twist his mouth as Lee hands over the empty metal camping mug and looks at him expectantly.

"I don't know, man," Kevin says, eyes glancing over the other occupants of the cabin. Ivan looks like he's dozing. Rudolph and Dimitri have already topped off their own cups and toasted to some mutual point of agreement.

Kevin himself is feeling more tipsy than he plans on owning up to. Amazing what 110 proof vodka can do in a short amount of time.

"Please?" Lee says, eyes widening in a hopeful expression that has to be calculated. It's already working. Flynn can feel his resistance crumbling.

"I thought the _first_ drink was a bad idea," Kevin points out. "I'm pretty sure a second round would be even worse."

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"It maxed out when you got _shot_ , man," Kevin says, rolling his eyes. Lee's not in immediate danger—his wounds have been dressed, just like Ivan's, with the medical kit from Lee's car. "You're injured, remember?"

"Medicinal purposes?" Lee tries.

"You used that argument already," says Kevin. But he finally accepts the tin mug anyway, and picks his own up while he's at it, and Dimitri happily refills both when Flynn approaches the table.

"Thanks," Kevin says, and salutes with one of the cups. Dimitri salutes back and downs a healthy swallow before Kevin returns to Lee's side.

He wishes there were more actual furniture to choose from, but the cabin is pretty sparse. He has to settle for the stool he's got pulled up alongside Lee's chair, but at least he gets to hover close. He finds himself claiming more and more of Lee's personal space as the night progresses, and for once Lee doesn't seem inclined to retreat.

Not that he could even if he wanted to tonight—not without falling out of his chair—but still. The fact that he doesn't seem to mind is heartening, especially after the way Lee's been distancing himself since the kiss Flynn can't stop thinking about.

Flynn settles back into place and hands Lee's cup back to him. When Kevin leans in to drape his arm across the back of the chair, Lee gravitates toward him like he's not even thinking about it. Lee raises the cup to his lips and Flynn watches his throat work as he swallows a sip of the intense liquid. From this close the sight makes Kevin want to do things he can't even consider in mixed company.

"Kevin, how did you pull all this off?" Lee says, and it takes Kevin a moment to realize it's a question and he should probably try to answer it.

He shrugs as he tries to gather his thoughts—and can't quite manage the trick with the way his brain is starting to go fuzzy around the edges. Finally he says, "It's Christmas Eve. We just… called a truce."

"It can't be that simple. They wouldn't have just _agreed_ to a truce."

"That double shot of vodka you're holding says otherwise," Kevin mutters, taking a swallow of his own and grimacing at the burn of the liquid down his throat.

Strong stuff. He hopes they won't be singing any Christmas carols later, because this stuff feels like it's stripping his throat raw.

It's pretty damn good vodka.

"You are something else, you know that?" Lee says, taking another drink.

Yeah, Flynn thinks. _Damn_ good vodka.

"It's true," he says lightly. "I'm pretty much awesome." He glances towards the table and finds Dimitri watching them with a lazy expression. Kevin grins and winks, raising his glass and nodding when Dimitri returns the gesture.

"I'm sorry," Lee says abruptly. Kevin's eyes immediately fly back to him, and he finds Lee watching him with a look of quiet apology.

"For what?" Kevin asks.

"For getting you mixed up in all this," Lee says. "You shouldn't be here. You should be at home with your family. With _Sam_. Not tending bullet wounds in the middle of nowhere."

"It's not that big a deal," Kevin says. "I'll be back in plenty of time to open presents, Sam won't even know I was missing. Hell, how often does a corporate exec get to drink vodka with the KGB and eat overcooked beans at Christmas?"

"Ideally?" Lee says with a quirked eyebrow. "Never."

"I wouldn't trade it for anything," Kevin says.

Lee snorts in disbelief. Amused skepticism twists his mouth into a half smile as his eyes dart away.

"Hey, man," says Kevin. The words draw Lee's attention instantly back, and Kevin lets his expression fall serious as he says, "I mean it."

Lee stares at him for a long moment. He looks startled and a little bit lost, and his lips part on a response he can't seem to articulate.

Christ, what Kevin wouldn't give for a room to themselves or a sprig of mistletoe right about now. But he's all too aware of all the extra eyes in the room—and of the curious looks Dimitri keeps throwing their way—and Kevin knows he has to be a gentleman tonight.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, low and quiet, and then slams the door on all those messy wants and tangled intentions of his. Just for tonight. The smile he offers is genuine and uncomplicated, and Lee responds in kind.

"Merry Christmas, Lee," says Kevin, and takes another drink.


	11. Remembrance of Things Past

The funeral is quiet and dignified. A dozen guests deliver eulogies in almost as many different languages. Kevin understands enough to follow almost half of them, but he's not really processing the speeches.

He's too busy feeling numb—which is a step up from the slick, nauseous grief he felt twisting up inside him when he first got the call. Even then, Billy needed to repeat himself three times before Kevin finally realized what the man was saying.

Lee can't be dead, Kevin still thinks. That's not how this is supposed to go.

Billy stands beside him now, quiet at Kevin's left elbow. On Kevin's right is Francine—warm, lovely, sharp-witted Francine who's silent now for the first time since Kevin first met her. Her hand is on his shoulder. It's been almost ten minutes since she put it there, and she doesn't seem inclined to take it back.

Kevin wishes he didn't feel quite so grateful, but he's pretty sure the reassuring touch is the only thing keeping his feet planted in place.

He doesn't want to be here. The ceremony makes Lee's death into something solid and inescapable. Kevin's eyes water, but he keeps the tears in check. He knows a thing or two about maintaining his game face in public.

Christ, he knew he was getting attached, but the size of the hole in his chest tells him he was in a lot farther than he realized.

This is a hell of a way—hell of a _time_ —to realize he'd already gone and fallen in love.

The ceremony ends as quietly as it began, and the guests trickle away across the grass. Francine steps forward, hand dropping from Kevin's shoulder as she moves towards the grave, and she sets an expensive bottle of champagne on the closed lid of the coffin. She hesitates there a moment, lost and silent, and finally turns to leave.

She pauses on her way past Kevin. Her hand is warm on his arm, and her eyes are sad but dry.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, in a way that makes Kevin think maybe she's a lot smarter than he is.

When she's gone it takes Kevin a moment to realize Billy is still standing beside him. They're the only two left at the grave site.

"What happens now?" Kevin asks. He doesn't like the way his voice sounds, thick and graveled with grief.

"You go home," Billy says. Kevin's mouth twists down unhappily, and Billy adds, "Kevin, trust me. Go on home. Tomorrow will be better."

There's something off about the way he voices the reassurance. Something that makes Kevin think he's missing a vital piece of information. But it's not bad advice. Kevin _does_ have to go home.

Where else is there?

 

\- — - — - — - — - — -

"Daddy, are you okay?" Sam asks. Kevin looks up in surprise—he hadn't realized Sam was in his office, let alone standing just a foot away from the couch.

"Fine, kiddo," Kevin lies, leaning back and opening his arms so Sam can crawl into his lap. Sam scrambles up and looks at him skeptically for a long moment before curling against Kevin's chest and tucking his head under Kevin's chin.

"You look sad," says Sam. His tone brooks no bullshit, and Kevin sighs.

"Yeah, a little," he admits, feeling like a complete dick. Not for lying to Sam—Kevin will never feel guilty for wanting to protect his son—but for putting the worry there in the first place. This is his mess. The last thing he wants is to bother his five-year-old son with it.

"Why?" Sam asks.

Kevin gusts a sore, humorless laugh and admits, "I had to say goodbye to a friend today." His chest tightens with the words and he swallows hard.

"Forever goodbye?" Sam asks.

"Yeah," Kevin says.

Sam shifts in Kevin's lap, gets his knees beneath him, and suddenly tiny arms are wrapping around Kevin's neck. Sam's hair tickles the underside of his jaw, and Kevin's chest winds even tighter. He wraps his arms around his son, heartsick and grateful, and squeezes him tightly.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Sam says softly.

"It's okay," Kevin lies. "Sometimes these things happen."

Kevin's eyes trail the far wall and land on the clock by chance, and his eyebrows knit together as he realizes how late it is.

"You're supposed to be in bed, kiddo," he says, loosening his hold and nudging Sam back in order to him in the eye. "What are you doing up?"

"Gran fell asleep on the couch," says Sam. "I want a bedtime story."

"Well," Kevin says, putting on a thin approximation of his warmest smile. "We'd better do something about that." He stands smoothly, lifting Sam into his arms and carrying him towards the door. "What kind of story do you want?"

"I want a story about the Grid!" Sam demands.

And just like that, Kevin knows exactly where he needs to go.

 

\- — - — - — - — - — -

He tells Sam his bedtime story first. A true story, about Tron and a fierce battle with a nasty computer virus. He doesn't have to exaggerate a single detail.

After, when Sam and everyone else are asleep in their beds and the house is dark and quiet, Kevin slips out the door.

The night is chilly, even through the leather of Kevin's jacket, and the wind leaves him shivering by the time he parks his bike on the street outside his vacant arcade. The sign is dark—Flynn only turns it on when he's feeling a particular brand of nostalgia, or when he's opening the arcade to the public for an event or just for the hell of it—and Kevin unlocks the door now without glancing up.

The lights _inside_ the arcade are already on, and he blinks in confusion, wondering if he forgot to shut everything down last time he was here.

But no, the games are silent. There's no music assaulting his eardrums as he closes and locks the door behind him. Just the lights, and a chill runs up his spine as he wonders if someone has been here in his absence.

He turns from the door, takes a step further into the arcade, then freezes when he sees the impatient figure leaning against the nearest Paranoid machine.

"Son of a bitch," Kevin breathes. His heart does a shocky somersault in his chest, and he drops his keys to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Hi," says Lee.

He looks like he might be about to say more, but Kevin doesn't give him the chance. He's across the floor in an instant, crowding Lee against the machine, wrapping disbelieving arms around him and clinging so tightly he's surprised either of them can breathe. He buries his face against Lee's neck and feels relieved laughter bubble up violently in his chest.

"You're alive," Kevin gasps as Lee overcomes his moment of hesitation and finally returns the embrace, hands settling high on Kevin's back as he shifts in Kevin's hold.

"I'm alive," Lee confirms.

"Fuck," Kevin breathes. "Oh, _fuck_ , how did you— _Why_ did you— What the _hell_ , man, I am so angry at you right now!" He lets go and steps back abruptly as he realizes just how angry he is. For a second the fury completely overtakes the relief rushing so brightly through his chest.

The relief comes back quickly enough. All he has to do is look at Lee and it hits him again, like a live wire beneath his ribs. But he's still pissed off, and his expression goes dark as Lee stares at him in confusion.

"Why?" Lee asks. "For being alive?"

"No," Kevin snaps, flailing one hand uselessly in the air. "For this… this… whatever it is you're pulling, man! I had to go to your _funeral_ today, do you have any idea how that felt?"

God, he shouldn't even have to explain this.

"Was it a nice funeral?" Lee asks, deliberately missing the point. "Tasteful, not too fancy…?"

"Fuck you," Kevin mutters darkly, and drags his eyes away. He can't bring himself to turn his back on Lee right now, but he angles his body to the side at least, letting his gaze burn into the rows upon rows of silent game machines instead of the logical recipient of his glare. He runs his fingers through his hair and pretends his hands aren't shaking.

The silence is surreal in this space. Kevin hates it.

He flinches when Lee's hand closes on his shoulder, but Lee holds on. Squeezes in a way that's probably meant to be reassuring.

"I'm sorry," Lee says. His voice is soft and serious, and when Kevin turns to meet his eyes he finds no trace of unwelcome humor.

He covers Lee's hand with his own, and his voice feels like gravel when he asks, "What happened? You're obviously not dead."

"I nearly was," Lee admits, taking his hand back as Kevin turns to face him more fully. "Our killer almost made good on his threatening notes."

"Are you all right?" Kevin asks, alarmed.

"Aside from a new vent in my left shoulder, yes. I'm fine. But Billy and I figured if the killer thought I was dead, he'd move on to his next victim."

"And never suspect you might be investigating your own murder," Kevin connects the dots immediately.

"Exactly. You and Billy are the only two who know what's going on. I'll need you to help me with the legwork. Obviously I can't be seen or the whole plan goes straight to hell. And…" Lee trails off, looking sheepish, and Kevin arches an eyebrow.

"And?" Kevin presses.

"And I'll need a place to stay," Lee admits with a shrug. It's probably meant to look casual. The effect is anything but.

"There's a bed and a couch upstairs," says Flynn. "You can take your pick."

"Thanks," Lee says.

"Any time," says Kevin.

He really, _really_ means it. From the startled look in Lee's eyes—and the way he stands there with his mouth open, as though he was about to speak but suddenly can't remember what he intended to say—Kevin's intensity doesn't go unnoticed.

"So," Kevin says, taking pity and interrupting the moment before it can get any more tense. "Want a beer?"

"God yes," says Lee, and follows him upstairs.


	12. Lost and Found

"You remember what you said last night?" Lee asks, eyes drifting across the horizon as he leans on the hood of his car. "About how when an affair is over you just… know?"

Kevin perches beside him, nearly close enough to brush elbows. The used car lot is empty of people now, the street finally clear of the agency vehicles that swarmed in to pick up the apprehended enemy agents.

"Finally got there with Eva, did you?" Kevin asks carefully.

"Did I ever," says Lee. He sounds more relieved than heartbroken. Kevin's going to consider that a step up from the kicked-puppy expression the man's been wearing since his ex first waltzed into town.

"Was that before or after you realized she was working for the KGB?" The question is out before Kevin can bite his tongue.

"It was pretty much concurrent," Lee admits dryly. "About when she tried to put a bullet in my back. Which, thank you, by the way."

"For taking her bullets?" Kevin says. "Hey, don't mention it. Some people might call me paranoid, but I like to consider myself a forward thinker."

"Either way, I appreciate it."

They lapse into silence. Kevin tries to ignore the jealousy worming fiercely through his insides, and fails pretty spectacularly. His own gaze fixes on a random spot on the horizon, and he opens his mouth before he even realizes he means to speak.

"Did you sleep with her?"

In his peripheral vision, he sees Lee stiffen. Lee's posture goes rigid as he shakes his head.

"No," Lee says, as though the gesture isn't enough.

"But _something_ happened," Kevin presses.

A strained moment passes, but eventually Lee nods.

"Something," he concedes. There's regret in his voice, and Kevin wishes he could make Eva Spinelli suffer for twisting Lee around this way. Never mind touching him—which Kevin is also pretty sure he'll never forgive her for, even if his own claim is nebulous at best.

"Ah, fuck it," Kevin mutters, and moves before he can give himself a chance to reconsider his actions.

He twists sideways, angling his entire body towards Lee as he reaches for him. The back of Lee's neck is warm beneath Kevin's fingers, and Lee's eyes go wide in the instant before Kevin tugs him close and kisses him.

He feels Lee gasp against his lips, feels Lee's hands come up between them—whether to pull him closer or push him away Kevin can't be sure. Kevin is faster, though, pushing off the car so that he can shift their positions—so he can keep Lee right where he is, nowhere to retreat as Kevin's body presses flush against him—as Kevin's free hand drifts to the small of Lee's back and Kevin's tongue sneaks past Lee's barely parted lips.

Lee grasps at Kevin's jacket, leather creaking between his fingers, and things are going so well that Kevin honestly doesn't expect Lee to push him away.

He blinks in surprise a moment later. He stares at Lee—stares at Lee's mouth for an extra beat before raising his focus to Lee's wide, caught-out eyes. Lee's breath is coming in shallow bursts, and Kevin knows the feeling. Lee's expression is wide open and winded, and though he pushed Kevin away, he didn't push him far. Their bodies are still pressing together in all the right places, and Kevin finds it distracting as hell.

His brain still catches up eventually, and he says, "You're right. We shouldn't do this here."

"No," Lee agrees in a disconnected voice.

"You want to come back to my place?" Kevin asks. "Or maybe the arcade?" Somewhere with a little privacy, is the key. Privacy and a bed.

But Lee shakes his head, and the shocked, open look on his face closes down to something more calculated. It's a practiced neutral expression, and it doesn't give Kevin anything to work with.

"I can't," Lee says.

"Sure you can," Kevin counters.

"I need to get back to the agency."

And much as he might want to, Kevin knows better than to push. He won't get anywhere good by forcing the issue now.

Backing off is still the hardest thing he's done all week.


	13. I Am Not Now, nor Have I Ever Been… a Spy

The apartment is messy but strangely familiar, and Kevin lowers himself cautiously onto the tasteful couch in the center of the room.

His escort—Lee, according to recent introductions—sits beside him. Lee takes the center cushion of the couch instead of the far one, which puts him a little closer than propriety warrants, and Kevin blinks at him and wishes like hell he could remember this man.

"You really don't have the slightest idea who I am," Lee says. Kevin can't decide if he sounds hurt or just tired.

"Well," Kevin hedges. "I have _some_ idea now. You're a spy. You work for the U.S. government." He learned all these things on his tour of the agency, though it did jack diddly squat to jog his memory. "But other than that?" He gives a helpless shrug. "Sorry, man, it's a complete blank."

Lee scowls, expression turning almost petulant, and Kevin finds himself desperate to put some other expression on the man's face.

"The doctor said I might forget things that were emotionally complicated," Kevin tries to explain. "Which, frankly sounds like a bogus medical assessment to me, but assuming he's right… I can see why I might forget the crash, but you? What could be so emotionally complicated about you?"

But even as he asks the question—as Lee's go wider with every word that comes out of his mouth—Kevin finds himself connecting the dots.

"Oh," he says dumbly. No wonder Lee looks so put out at the fact that Kevin can't remember him.

But for some reason, Lee suddenly looks _more_ confused, and he blinks at Kevin for a moment before asking, "Oh what?"

"Look, it's not that big a deal," Kevin says. "I'll remember eventually. And you could've just _told_ me we're an item, man. It's not exactly a picnic flailing around in the dark like this."

"Woah," Lee interjects, scooting back across the couch until there's an extra foot and a half of space between them. "Woah, okay, back up a minute."

Kevin blinks in confusion and tries to retrace his words. "I'll remember eventually?" he guesses.

"Not that part," says Lee.

Kevin comes up blank and shakes his head. "Then I think you've lost me," he says.

Lee stares at him for an extra moment before opening his mouth.

"Kevin, we're not… We've never…" He closes his mouth. Takes a deliberate breath. "We're not together."

"Bullshit," Kevin responds instantly.

Lee's jaw drops in surprise, and he shakes his head as though to clear it.

"I'm serious," Lee insists. "I don't know where you got that idea, but we're not a couple."

"Fuck buddies?" Kevin tries.

"No."

"Friends with benefits?"

" _Kevin_!"

"Sorry!" Kevin throws his hands up in an exasperated gesture, then lets them fall again, leaning forward on his knees. "Can't blame a guy for wondering."

Except Lee still looks completely aghast, and Kevin feels like he's missing something obvious.

"Do you want something to drink?" Lee asks, effectively changing the subject. "Coffee?"

"Sure," says Kevin.

He twists around on the couch to enjoy the view as Lee retreats towards the kitchen.

Suddenly Kevin's pretty sure this is a case of the lady protesting too much.


	14. Dead Ringer

"She's horrible," Kevin informs Lee. He's not keeping his voice as low as he probably should, but it's hard to care. Hell, he almost hopes Magda _does_ hear.

She may be a useful font of important intel—intel Lee clearly needs to get his hands on—but she's also the coldest, rudest, most entitled ice princess Kevin has ever met.

He can sympathize with her situation, but his sympathy is fast wearing out in the face of her grating attitude. At this point, he just wants her out of his house.

"She's… a little abrasive," Lee agrees blandly, speaking much more quietly than Flynn.

"She's a monster," Kevin mutters. "And she can't stay here."

"It won't be for long," Lee says, reaching for the freshly brewed pot of coffee on the counter by the fridge. "A couple more hours at most. We just need to keep her hidden until a new safe house is set up."

"Fine," Kevin agrees. "But she'd better play nice. If she makes my son cry again, I'm locking her in the basement." He'll do it, too. He's halfway tempted to do it now and claim it's in the interests of national security. Lee might even let him get away with it.

He's thinking of checking on Sam now—seeing if he can coax the kid out of his room and distract him with something as far away from Magda and the living room as possible—when the front door rings.

"Oh, hell," Kevin mutters, wondering who that could be at this hour. He's barely turned when he hears another door slam open and the rush of small, fast feet in the hall. "Sam, wait!" Kevin calls, hurrying around the corner, but he's already too late.

Sam has yanked the door open and stands with his hand on the knob, his profile lit with a smile as he lets Alan Bradley inside.

At least it's just Alan. Kevin was halfway fearing it would be some thug with a gun in his hand.

"Hey, buddy," Alan says, tousling Sam's hair as he steps into the house. Sam closes the door behind him, and Alan's eyes move in search of Kevin. Kevin smiles and crosses the last of the space between them, reaching up to squeeze Alan's arm and offering him a smile.

"Alan," Kevin says. "Wasn't expecting you today. What can I do for you?"

"You missed the meeting at two," Alan says, pushing his glasses higher on his face and giving Kevin a heavy look. "I thought you might want to see the figures before we moved ahead with—…"

Alan trails off mid-sentence, and Kevin blinks at him for a moment, wondering why. It's only belatedly that he realizes Lee has followed him into the hall and taken up a position just behind him.

So much for the subtle art of espionage.

"Right. Um. Alan, this is Lee Stetson. Lee, this is Alan Bradley, the man who _really_ keeps Encom running."

"Nice to finally meet you," Lee says, stepping forward and extending his hand.

Alan accepts the offered handshake, eyes wide and expression puzzled. His gaze shifts to Kevin, unvoiced questions on his face, and then he returns his focus to Lee.

"I'm sorry," Alan says. "I didn't know I'd be interrupting anything. I can come back later."

"You don't have to do that, man," Kevin says, just as Lee jumps in with, "That might be for the best."

Kevin glares at Lee sidelong, but Lee returns the look blandly, hands in his pockets and expression unreadable.

"Alan, will you buy me ice cream?" Sam interjects, drawing Kevin's attention suddenly down to where he hadn't even realized his son was still standing. Alan's gaze drops as well, amusement replacing the awkward uncertainty that was darkening his features a moment before.

"Sam," Kevin admonishes. "We have three kinds of ice cream in the freezer."

"It's not the same," Sam insists, giving Kevin an exasperated look that should be well beyond his five years. Then he tilts his head back, returns his pleading stare to Alan, and says, "Please? Can we go?"

And Kevin already knew it wasn't really about the ice cream, but now he realizes Sam's request is as much about getting out of this house—away from Magda—as it is about trying to claim Alan's attention for himself. He mentally crosses his fingers, and breathes a sigh of relief when Alan's smile widens.

"Only if it's okay with your dad," Alan says, throwing Kevin a questioning glance.

Kevin gives Alan a grateful smile and nods.

"Here," Alan says when Kevin follows the two of them to the door. Sam is already halfway down the sidewalk, and Kevin accepts the file folder Alan hands to him. He shifts the bundle of papers to his other arm and sets a hand on Alan's shoulder.

"Thanks, man," he says. "I owe you one."

"We can add it to the tally," Alan says with a wry smile. "When do you want him back?"

Kevin's expression darkens slightly, despite his efforts to keep his face neutral, and he says, "Maybe I should just call you. Can you keep him for a few hours?"

"Sure," Alan says, eyes turning somber. "Kevin, is everything all right?"

Kevin sighs, eyes rolling meaningfully, but he shakes his head. "It will be," he says. "Once I've got this defecting Hungarian refugee out of my living room."

Alan stares at him for an extra beat, clearly trying to decide if he's serious. Or possibly waiting for the punch line.

"I don't think I want to know," Alan finally says, and turns to head down the walk.

Kevin closes the door and turns the lock, and suddenly Lee is right at his side.

"He seems nice," Lee says.

Kevin snorts at the completely noncommittal response. He turns and leans his back against the door, crossing his arms around the file and cocking an eyebrow at Lee.

"Nice," he echoes.

"We didn't exactly have the chance to bare our souls before you hustled him out the door.”

"I didn't hustle him anywhere," Kevin says, pushing off the door and moving back down the hall. " _You_ scared him off. Now I'm going to have to look at these numbers myself instead of getting the short version from him." Not that he wouldn't go through the papers in obsessive detail later regardless, but he's still a little pissy about having his house overrun with uninvited guests. Christ, what if they're still here when Mom and Dad get home?

Lee follows him down the hall—past the living room where Magda still sits sipping coffee and looking bored—and back into the kitchen.

"You didn't tell me he looks just like me," Lee says amiably.

"Well," Kevin hedges, setting the file folder down on the counter. "Not _just_ like you. But yes, there's a slight resemblance there." Except now that he's seen them standing practically side by side, he has to admit the resemblance is even more uncanny than he realized.

Makes him wonder how he's made it this long without hitting on Alan, honestly.

Then he thinks back harder and realizes he's hit on Alan plenty of times. The man just knows how to shut him down and mean it, and despite occasional evidence to the contrary, Kevin knows how to take a rejection.

It's not his fault Lee is the king of mixed signals.

"It's more than a slight resemblance," says Lee.

Kevin rolls his eyes and locks Lee in a piercing stare.

"Don't you _dare_ seduce him into the spy business. I need him at Encom, not running around the country playing doppelganger for the U.S. government."

"Wouldn't dream of it," says Lee.

But there's a glint in his eye that Kevin doesn't quite trust.


	15. The Mole

"God, investigating your own team has to suck," Kevin says, eyes ducking past Lee and towards the baseball diamond. Sam's not up to bat yet, so he gives his attention back to Lee.

"Tell me about it," Lee sighs. "Internal investigations has never been my thing. What have you got for me?"

"First, you have to put this on," Kevin says, handing over a blue baseball cap with an intricate letter B emblazened on the front.

"What? Why?" Lee accepts the hand-off but doesn't put it anywhere near his head.

"All the Bombers' fathers wear them," Kevin says, proudly indicating the cap on his own head and darting another glance towards the field to make sure he still hasn't missed his son's turn at bat. "You'll be less conspicuous."

Lee blinks at him disbelievingly for a moment and then tries to hand the cap back.

"No," Lee says. "I am not putting that thing on my head."

"Aw, come on, man," Kevin shifts to stand a little closer—a little closer than he should, really, but Lee doesn't call him out on it. "Not even for Sam? He was so excited when I told him you were coming."

Lee's lips press into a thin line, nonplussed and skeptical.

"This is emotional blackmail," Lee points out.

"Is it working?" Kevin asks.

Lee heaves a heavy, put-upon sigh, but a moment later he stops trying to hand the baseball cap back to Kevin and instead puts it on his own head. The look he gives Kevin from beneath the brim is comically unhappy.

"It's a good look for you," Kevin says. Though admittedly, he's pretty sure there's no such thing as a _bad_ look for Lee Stetson. "Now," he adds. "Loosen your tie a little or something, would you? You look too stuffy to be watching a Little League game."

"Oh, for—"

But Lee complies, even popping open the top couple buttons of his crisp-collared shirt. Kevin smiles at the view before turning his eyes back to the field.

"So what have you got for me?" Lee asks.

"David Benson," Kevin says.

Lee flinches at the name—for all that he's a master spy, Kevin has noticed that he has the world's worst poker face when his defenses are down—and his eyes drill into the side of Kevin's head.

"Hey, man, it was just lunch," Kevin says. "And it wasn't even a real date, it was just a fact-finding mission. You don't have to be jealous."

"I'm not jealous," Lee says too quickly.

"Of course not," Kevin agrees, but he's barely suppressing a smirk. "Come on. Let's get a little closer to the field, and I'll tell you what I found out."


	16. Savior

"I still can’t believe you told me it _wasn’t_ a real bomb." Kevin glares at Lee, but the expression is more teasing than genuine.

"I didn’t know it was equipped with a detonator," Lee insists for the seventh time. "We were supposed to be transporting a dud, not the real thing."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, man."

Lee pulls the car up parallel with the curb, shifting into neutral and turning an exasperated look on Kevin. Across the street, the letters over the arcade are silent and dark. The building is locked up tight, waiting for Kevin's nightly visit.

Or what’s usually a nightly visit.

He feels a twinge of guilt at the thought of how long it’s been since he checked in. Lee Stetson is, among other things, remarkably bad for Kevin’s already strained schedule. Clu is going to be pissed.

But at least Tron will be happy to see him.

"Thanks for the ride," Kevin says, bringing his focus back to the present and the front seat of Lee’s car.

"No problem," says Lee. But he looks quietly skeptical.

Flynn arches an eyebrow and asks, "What is it?"

"Nothing," Lee says, eyes cutting away and focusing on some distant point through the windshield.

"No, I mean it," Kevin insists. "What’s up?"

Lee still hesitates a moment, but finally he meets Kevin’s eyes.

"What is it you’re always doing here at night?" Lee asks. "Whatever you’re working on… wouldn’t it be easier to set up a workspace closer to home? It can’t just be nostalgia bringing you back here all the time."

"It’s a little bit nostalgia."

"But not entirely," Lee presses.

"No," Flynn admits. "Not entirely."

"So why drive all the way out here? Why all the mystery and distance?"

"You mean why the secret lab hidden beneath the arcade?"

"Well," Lee hedges. "I wasn’t going to say it first."

Kevin laughs at the caught-out look on Lee’s face.

"I figured you didn’t want me to know about that part," Lee admits. "It seems like a pretty big secret."

"It is," Kevin says. "And I know I can trust you to keep it to yourself." He doesn’t ask how Lee knows. It was probably inevitable, and Kevin's been thinking about filling him in anyway.

Lee must pick up on Kevin's utter lack of concern, because the stiffness goes out of his shoulders and he locks Kevin with a more piercing look.

"What’s down there?"

Kevin smiles. He can feel excitement and mischief lighting his eyes as he says, "A digital frontier. A miracle, really. You’ve never seen anything like it." Then in a softer tone, "I’ll have to show you one day."

"But not today," Lee guesses. One corner of his mouth twitches upwards in a wry half-smile.

"No," Kevin agrees. "I've been gone too long. There's too much work to do. But as soon as I've got it all figured out, I'll show you everything there is to see. I promise."

Lee's eyes narrow, gaze turning heavy with consideration.

"I'm holding you to that," Lee says.

Kevin doesn't doubt it for a second.


	17. The Artful Dodger

"I wish once in a while you could save the country _without_ letting people hit you in the face," Kevin says, handing Lee a beer. His fingers are slippery with the condensation. His own bottle is ice cold in his other hand as he drops beside Lee on the low white couch above the arcade.

The arcade is silent and eerily dark—Kevin would be more at ease with all the games running, the lights flashing, the music blasting loud, but he's doing his best to make Lee comfortable right now. It's the least he can do considering the day they've had.

"I wouldn't mind that either," Lee says, and Kevin cringes sympathetically at the way speaking even that brief sentence makes Lee flinch.

Christ, the guy looks awful. His lip is purpling and swollen to enormous proportions. It looks like he's trying (and failing) to suck on a grapefruit.

"Anyway," Lee continues, glancing at Kevin out of the corner of his eye. "Fat lot of good _you_ were. I may have let him hit me in the face, but I'm not the one that _dated_ him."

"For the last time," Kevin rolls his eyes, exasperated. "It wasn't a _date_. He tried to pick me up, I said no. He gave me this ridiculous kicked puppy look, so I let him take me to dinner. _Once_. One pity dinner does not mean I dated him."

"Whatever you say," Lee mutters, taking another painful sip of his beer. Kevin almost regrets giving it to him. Kevin's own face hurts just looking at Lee right now, and when Lee opens his mouth to speak again, Kevin cuts him off.

"Look, just. Stop talking. It's painful to watch. _I'll_ talk, okay?"

"About what?" Lee demands sulkily. As if Kevin is ever hurting for topics—as if he ever stops talking even on a good day.

Kevin considers for a moment anyway, taking a sip from his beer and then dangling the bottle from his fingertips. The decision hits him almost like an afterthought, and he feels a mischievous smile spread across his face.

"Let me tell you a story about this place called the Grid."


	18. Filming Raul

Kevin parks his car behind Lee's, slipping easily into the wide space along the curb. He'd rather be on his bike, but Lee was adamant that a car would be safer.

The sky is midnight dark, the street empty and quiet, and Kevin isn't startled by the light tapping on his passenger-side window—or by Lee opening the door and slipping into the passenger seat.

"All right," Lee says without preamble, tugging the door shut behind him. "Billy and the others will be here in about ten minutes. Fred will take your place for the film drop."

"What?" Kevin unbuckles his seatbelt so he can turn and lock Lee in a skeptical stare. "Why Fred? I could do it myself."

"It's procedure."

"Oh, come on." Kevin glares darkly. "What's Fred Fielding got that I don't have?"

"Fred Fielding is a qualified agent," Lee says. His tone is bemused.

Kevin sighs and slumps back in his seat. "Of course he is."

Kevin knows damn well he's got no actual business in government espionage. It's not his fault he keeps getting thrown into these situations. But he still doesn't see why he has to sit this particular job out.

"How much qualification does it take to throw a cassette out a window, anyway?" he asks.

"It doesn't take any special qualifications."

"Then I can do it?"

"No."

Kevin heaves a dramatic sigh and says, "Fine. What do I do?"

"Billy thinks you should stay with me until they're done using your car for the drop."

"My way would be a whole lot simpler."

"And a lot quieter," Lee says pointedly. But the hint of a smile fades quickly to a more serious expression, and Kevin knows better than to keep arguing when Lee repeats, "Fred makes the drop."

"Fine," Kevin grumbles. "But he better not hurt my car. You agency types can be so reckle— _hey_!"

Kevin's brain takes a moment to process that he's suddenly squashed close against Lee—that Lee _dragged him over here_ , balancing him awkwardly across the gap between the seats. The gear shift presses uncomfortably into Kevin's hip, but he can't bring himself to mind the discomfort when he's suddenly tucked warmly against Lee's chest.

"There's a local patrol car turning onto the street," Lee says. His tone is strictly business, but there's a hint of tension underlying the words as he adds, "This… looks much more natural."

"Not quite," Kevin breathes, words ghosting deliberately over Lee's neck. Lee shivers, and Kevin is already moving—straightening from the off-balance slouch Lee dragged him into.

Lee's eyes are wide when Kevin draws back far enough to see his face.

"What do you—?"

But this time it's Kevin's turn to cut Lee short, and the rest of Lee's question vanishes with the sudden press of Kevin's mouth. Lee's lips, interrupted mid-inquiry, part wider for Kevin's tongue, and Kevin's eyes drift shut as his hand slips down Lee's chest towards riskier territory.

He doesn't venture below the belt. Even if this were the proper venue—and it isn't, not by a long shot—he's pretty sure a move that blatant would get him decked tonight. He'd rather enjoy the moment: Lee's mouth so obliging beneath his own, Lee's hands holding on tightly instead of pushing him away, Lee's stomach warm temptation through the thin fabric of his shirt.

God, Kevin could do this all night.

Except they _can't_ do this all night. They're here on a mission, albeit one in which Kevin's job is to sit useless on the sidelines. Lives are at stake, and the rest of the team will be here any moment. With that thought, Kevin finally pulls back and breaks the kiss.

He finds Lee staring at him, stunned—whether at his own reaction or the fact that Kevin kissed him in the first place, Kevin can't be entirely sure.

"I think they're gone now," Kevin says. He's still hovering too close for propriety, but in his peripheral vision he can see headlights vanishing around the corner at the far end of the street.

"Uh. Yeah," Lee agrees. "They're definitely gone."

Finally, even though it's the last thing he wants to do right now, Kevin backs off and settles into the driver's seat, giving Lee enough space to breathe.


	19. Fearless Dotty

As sixth birthday parties go, this one is pretty goddamn epic

Kevin leaves Sam cutting his own birthday cake—under Grandma’s laughing supervision—and heads for the kitchen.

He only means to grab a fresh pitcher of lemonade from the fridge, but a deliberate tapping at the window draws him around the corner and out the back door. He finds Lee standing on his back porch, with a smug grin on his face and a wrapped parcel in his hands.

The package is bulky and oblong and wrapped in blue paper. Kevin knows instantly what he's looking at, even without seeing the box’s contents.

"Captain Galaxy," Kevin laughs, accepting the package when Lee hands it over. "I told you not to worry about it, man." He already talked to Sam before the party and promised he’d have one shipped in straight from the source if they had to.

"I know," Lee says. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish but also pleased. "But I felt responsible. I’m sorry about what happened to the other one."

Kevin wasn’t particularly worried about the damaged toy. There are, after all, certain advantages to having more money than God.

But he appreciates the thought, and his smile is warm and genuine as he says, "Thanks, man."

"Don’t mention it."

Silence settles unexpectedly between them—not awkward, exactly, but oddly expectant—and Kevin fidgets with the gift in his hands.

"You know," Lee finally says, eyes narrowing into a considering look. "I didn’t say this before, but that bit you pulled with the fire hose? That was all right."

"Really?" Kevin blinks in surprise. _He_ knows his stunt went a long way towards saving their asses today, but Lee’s never offered him such a blatant, unmistakable— _intentional_ —compliment before.

"Your reaction time was terrific," says Lee. "You thought right on your feet."

"You were glad I was there?" Kevin asks.

"Well…" Lee hedges, but there’s an obvious glint in his eyes.

"You were _definitely_ glad I was there," Kevin smirks.

"Yeah," Lee concedes, and the grin that breaks across his face is nearly blinding.

Kevin stares for a lot longer than he should—long enough that Lee’s expression slips with the first hint of uncertainty. Kevin shakes himself out of it, not sure how to cover his moment of distraction.

"You want to come in for cake?" he blurts.

"I probably shouldn’t."

"Oh, come on," Kevin says, already warming up to the idea. "It's chocolate, and it is seriously fantastic. My dad made it. You wouldn't believe what that man can do with a whisk and a cake pan."

For an instant, Lee still looks like he might demur. Kevin widens his eyes, lets hopeful sincerity shine from his face until Lee finally shakes his head in resignation. A wry smile twists up at the corner of Lee's mouth.

"All right," Lee concedes. "Maybe just for a few minutes."

Kevin moves for the door, holding it open and gesturing Lee through. He grabs the pitcher of lemonade in his free hand as he leads the way across the kitchen—towards the front of the house and the raucous, chaotic living room.

The two of them stand in the hallway for a long moment, taking in the noisy scene. Kevin's mom catches sight of them and offers a wide smile, before turning her attention as a heavy thump echoes in some other corner of the room.

"Jesus, it's a _mob_ ," Lee mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

"It's a birthday party," Kevin grins. "It wouldn't be memorable without at least a little mayhem."

" _Lee_!" comes a shrill shout from across the room. Kevin raises his eyes just in time to see a bright blur as his son dashes towards them.

"Brace yourself," says Kevin.

In the second before impact, Lee arches one eyebrow as if to say, ' _bring it on_.'


	20. Weekend

"What's the plan?" Kevin asks in a low voice as they make their way through a lavish corridor towards their room.

He's stayed at the Cumberland a couple of times—on business only. The place feels a little too pretentious for a good vacation spot, but the halls and décor are still familiar.

"We need to be down in the lounge before six," says Lee. "We don't know _who_ is going to be kidnapped, just that he'll be checking in at six. Once we identify the intended victim, we'll be better equipped to protect him."

"That makes sense," Kevin says as they draw to a stop in front of a sturdy white door.

Lee pulls the key from his pocket and turns it in the lock. There's no bellhop to 'assist' them since Kevin already sent the man away with a healthy tip. The room they step into is wide and bright and decorated just as extravagantly as the hallway.

As the door clicks shut behind them, Kevin's eyes sweep the space and find the bed.

The _one_ bed. His eyes find Lee next, and Kevin arches an eyebrow as surprised amusement quirks at the corner of his mouth.

"There weren't any suites available," Lee protests immediately. "This was the only room I could get. If Francine had been able to come—"

"Of course," Kevin interrupts blandly.

"It's surveillance," Lee insists. "Not an assignation." Kevin honestly can't tell which of them he's trying to convince.

"You keep telling yourself that," he teases. Except this is business. He plans to behave while they're here, and so before Lee can offer more protests Kevin adds, "Shouldn't we dress for dinner? We don't have much time to get down there if we need to be in place before six."

"Right," Lee agrees, looking flustered but relieved.

 

\- — - — - — - — -

"God damn it," Lee mutters as they step back into their room after dinner. He's already loosening his bowtie—Kevin ditched his own halfway through dessert—and Kevin can practically see the agent's tux rumpling with the force of his frustration. " _Three_ six o'clock check-ins. All of them powerful enough to make them plausible targets. Even if we split up we can't watch all of them."

"That's true," Kevin says, setting his tie down on the dresser and shrugging out of his black coat.

"My money's on Mr. Boska," Lee says, taking off his own smoothly tailored coat and revealing the holster and gun beneath. "The kidnappers won't move this early, though." He's moving towards the bed with purpose, and for the first time Kevin notices the fatigue weighing down Lee's shoulders.

"You'll probably want to grab a couple hours sleep first," Kevin notes, unbuttoning his sleeves and starting in on his collar.

Lee gives him a sharp look, then. Turns to regard the bed for a moment before locking his eyes back on Kevin.

Kevin's honestly not sure what that look is supposed to convey until Lee speaks.

"I'll take the couch," Lee says, already moving away from the bed.

"Oh for god's sake," Kevin says. He barely resists the urge to roll his eyes as he watches Lee cross the room. "You won't fit on the couch," he observes dryly.

"I'll fit," Lee insists.

"You'll be miserable," Kevin says. "It won't work. Lee. _Lee_. Seriously." Lee throws him another look, just as skeptical as the first. "I promise I'll stay on my side of the bed, okay? You have my word."

The silence that settles between them is considering. Cautious in a way that would be amusing if Kevin weren't getting sick of this bizarre game of cat and mouse they keep playing. Finally Lee's shoulders slump, a tired, neutral expression falls across his features, and he nods in agreement.

"Okay," Lee says, kicking his shoes off and striding back towards the bed. "I'm setting the alarm to go off in three hours. We can stake out at least two of their doors."

"Or," Kevin says gamely, "we could rig some kind of motion detector to alert us if one of the three doors opens during the night. Two of them are right here on this floor. Boska's room is just below us. We'll have plenty of time to get there when the kidnappers make their move."

Lee stares at him for a disbelieving moment, then says, "A motion detector. That will alert us _here_ if one of their doors opens."

"Sure," Kevin says.

"How, exactly, do you plan to make _that_ work?" Lee asks. Skepticism drips from his voice.

"I'm a computer genius," Kevin says lightly. "You'd be surprised what I can do."

 

\- — - — - — - — -

Lee drapes his gun holster over a chair beside the bed, but otherwise he crawls on top of the comforter mostly dressed. He's still wearing his dress shirt and the pants from his tux, and Kevin can't help thinking that looks incredibly uncomfortable.

Kevin changes into sweats and a t-shirt. Aside from the fact that he'd rather sleep comfortably, when that alarm system _does_ go off to tell them which target is in danger, he'd rather not race down the hall in dress pants. Not that Lee will want him along anyway, but at least Kevin can wear something a little easier to run in.

He settles on his own side of the bed as promised—also on top of the comforter, because the room is warm despite the cool evening—and closes his eyes without even glancing at Lee.

It feels like slim hours later when he wakes. The alarm system he rigged is still silent—no kidnapping attempts so far—and the sky outside is dark and crisp with night. A weak lamp glows in a far corner of the room, and Kevin would guess it's around midnight.

He's not sure what woke him, but then he's never been a particularly sound sleeper. More often than not he finds himself waking in the middle of the night, driven to his computer by a fresh idea or simply the need to fuss with some code.

He's experiencing no such urges right now, but he's wide awake anyway, and he shifts onto his side with a sigh.

And finds Lee asleep too close beside him, facing Kevin and practically squeezing into his space.

Kevin's first urge is to backpedal in a rush—he promised, after all—but a quick glance behind tells him that he's still right where he swore he'd stay. Firmly planted on his own side of the bed. It's Lee who's migrated across the neutral zone in the middle of the mattress, and into what is unmistakably Kevin's territory.

Lee's expression is smooth and untroubled, and now that he knows he's got nothing to feel guilty about, Kevin finds himself staring. There's just enough light to enjoy the view, and it's not often he gets to indulge like this. Lee is too shrewd and attentive to let Kevin's focus go unnoticed for long—at least when he's awake. Like this—face calm with dreamless sleep—there's nothing he can do to stop Kevin from looking.

Except open his eyes. Which he does suddenly, between one breath and the next. His gaze shifts quickly from bleary and unfocused to razor sharp, and he blinks at Kevin in quiet confusion.

Neither of them speaks. Kevin just watches, curious, as Lee shifts to peer over his own shoulder—gets a look at just how much of the bed is behind him—and then settles back down exactly where he was. There's a look Kevin can't read in his eyes. His lips are just slightly parted. The entire tableau is distracting as hell, and if Lee called him out for staring _now_ , Kevin wouldn't even apologize.

The moment stretches taut between them, and Kevin tries to remind himself of all his noble intentions to behave this trip.

They're here on business. This is a stakeout. He promised he'd stay on his own damn side of the bed.

But he did stay on his own damn side of the bed. And Lee is here, so close they're practically touching. More importantly, he's not moving away, and it's that revelation that pushes Kevin over the edge and into action.

He moves slowly. He projects his intentions as obviously as he can, deliberate and cautious—giving Lee plenty of time to retreat—but Lee stays right where he is. If anything he presses closer when Kevin's mouth covers his in a kiss that's almost chaste.

Lee's lips are soft and pleasant and entirely too inviting, and Kevin presses even closer, teasing with his tongue and, when Lee doesn't protest—when Lee's mouth opens for him—Kevin presses inside.

God Lee tastes good. For all that they've kissed more than once, this is the first time Kevin's really been able to savor the experience.

It takes him a moment to realize that Lee's hand is sliding through his hair, fingers warm on Kevin's scalp as Lee presses into the kiss. Lee's body is warm against Kevin's, his shirt sleep-rumpled and soft beneath Kevin's hands, and Kevin's chest rumbles with a hum of contentment as he surges forward.

Lee gives ground immediately and lets Kevin push him onto his back—lets Kevin's weight settle above him as Kevin maneuvers forward without breaking the kiss. Kevin shifts and slips a knee between Lee's thighs, and Lee lets him do that, too.

He finds Lee as hard as he is, and Kevin gasps in something embarrassingly like relief.

He breaks the kiss at last, and when he pulls back far enough to see Lee's face, he finds Lee watching him with dilated pupils and kiss-swollen lips. Lee's breath is coming shallow and fast, just like Kevin's, and when Kevin presses his knee tentatively harder—offering pressure and friction—Lee inhales sharply, hips bucking forward in a quick, sharp motion.

Kevin smiles and doesn't bother catching his breath. He ducks his head, pressing a teasing kiss to Lee's throat—grinning at the way Lee shivers when Kevin licks at the flushed skin just beneath his jaw.

He resists the urge to mark his territory, but it's tempting as hell.

He kisses Lee again, parts his own lips when Lee's tongue sweeps forward, questing and intent. Lee's body shifts deliberately against his, riding the firm friction offered by Kevin's leg between his thighs, offering Kevin the same, and Kevin groans and thrusts forward.

He loses track of everything after that—everything but the heat and friction and the ragged sound of Lee's breath in his ear. His hands wander, frustrated at how much clothing stands between them but nowhere near coordinated enough to remedy the problem. As he feels his orgasm looming close—the precipice cresting towards him, tall and bright—he grasps at Lee's ass, thrusts forward even more sharply.

He buries his face in Lee's throat when he comes—and even through the overwhelming wave of his own orgasm, he hears the sound of his name on Lee's accompanying groan.

 

\- — - — - — - — -

The next time he wakes, there's sunlight streaming through the window.

He's alone in the bed, and he can hear the shower pattering noisily through the closed bathroom door. His sweats stick to him uncomfortably as he sits up, and he admonishes himself for not bothering to clean up before falling asleep practically on top of Lee.

He can't bring himself to resent the discomfort much, though, even as he stands and crosses the room to check his cleverly rigged alarm systems.

Still working fine. Still no activity. Looks like the kidnappers didn't make their move last night after all.

He moves for the window next, pushing the curtain aside and gazing out at the lawn and tennis court below.

Just in time to see two thugs force a man he's never seen before into a limousine. At gunpoint.

"Oh hell," Kevin mutters. " _Lee_! Lee, get out of the shower, there's a man being kidnapped!"

But the limousine is gone an instant later. Kevin thumps his head against the glass and sighs.

 

\- — - — - — - — -

Of course they manage a rescue in the end. Lee is the best, after all. Kevin has yet to see him fail.

But after the debris has settled and the kidnappers have been locked away, things aren't looking up as brightly as Kevin might have hoped.

He sits mostly quiet in Lee's passenger seat as they make the drive home, and the atmosphere in the car is a strained sort of silence that leaves Kevin wondering if he fucked up. It wouldn't be the first time he pushed too hard.

"Are we going to talk about it?" he finally asks.

Lee is silent a long moment before answering.

"Talk about what?" he finally says. His expression is closed off, and his jaw clenches tightly.

Kevin sighs, low and unhappy, and turns to stare out his window instead.

"Never mind," he says, and braces himself for a long, silent ride.


	21. Waiting for Godorsky

The reception is held in the sunny grounds behind Princess Valosky's estate, and everywhere Kevin looks he sees warm smiles and faces bright with celebration.

There's not much by way of ceremony: just a simple speech and then the weight of the medal Sophia hangs around his neck. She kisses him on the cheek before stepping to the left and giving Lee the same honor. Kevin smiles and wonders if he should bow.

He's received medals before, but none that felt as significant and satisfying as this.

He sticks close to Lee's side, even after the princess and her guest of honor, Leonid Godorsky, have moved on to another corner of the reception. Kevin's not sure Lee actually wants him around at the moment—he's not exactly sure where he stands, considering the way Lee's been keeping him at a distance since Cumberland.

Mostly at a distance, anyway. The problem is that every once in a while Kevin will turn around and find Lee watching him too intently. Or he'll raise his eyes and discover Lee standing _right there_ , so close it makes Kevin's head spin. He's getting dizzy trying to keep up with all the mixed signals, and maybe it would be easier if he just walked away now.

But Kevin Flynn has never been good at walking away from a challenge, and so here he is, sticking to Lee's side like glue and trying not to gawk too blatantly at how gorgeous the man looks in this particular suit.

Somehow they wind up distanced from the other guests, at the far end of a low terrace with shade over their heads and a sprawling green yard ahead of them. There's a stone banister here, and Kevin leans on it, trying to remember what they were just talking about.

He comes up blank, so he opts to change the subject.

"It's hard to believe Sigrid and Antov were real agents. They seemed so… normal."

It's weak, but Lee smiles humoringly, slipping his hands into his pockets as he steps towards the railing and takes up a position at Kevin's elbow.

"That's their job," Lee points out. "It's what they're trained for. Hell, their training is the best in the world."

"Bullshit," Kevin says. "You're the best. You caught them."

Lee laughs warmly at that, and somewhere between the sound and the easy grin on the man's face, Kevin feels his breath catch tight in his chest.

"Well thank you," Lee says. "That wasn't a bad move you made with the car door, either." He glances over, humor in his eyes, but Kevin's poker face is already shot to hell and there's no way he's getting it back up in time.

Lee's face falls somber, dark with concern, and he asks, "What's wrong?"

Kevin shakes his head, forcing his attention away from Lee and out over the grounds. There's nothing to look at out there—just disparate herds of wandering dignitaries—but Kevin stares straight ahead anyway.

"Nothing," he says.

"It's obviously _not_ nothing," Lee presses. Stubborn steel glints in his voice.

Kevin gives up his weak attempt to deflect the question and breathes a low, unhappy sigh.

"Now probably isn't the time _or_ the place for that conversation."

He can feel Lee's stare drilling into the side of his head, and quickly comes to the conclusion that now would be a great moment for a speedy retreat. He pushes off of the railing, still not looking at Lee—looking at Lee tends to mess with his head, and that is exactly what he doesn't need right now.

"Thanks for the ride," Kevin says, "but I think I'll call for a limo to take me home." He doesn't relish the thought of getting picked up in a limo, but it seems like the preferable alternative.

"Kevin," Lee says softly, and his tone stops Kevin short. "Please." And Kevin turns right back around and resumes his position at Lee's side.

Christ, what is he hoping to accomplish here? Retreat is still the smartest option, but for some reason Kevin's feet are planted stubbornly in place.

He doesn't speak for long moments, and Lee doesn't interrupt the silence. Kevin still feels Lee watching him expectantly. The attention is unnerving.

Finally Kevin opens his mouth, and it's not until he hears the words coming out that he knows what he intends to say.

"I know you're attracted to me," Kevin says bluntly. Lee doesn't flinch at the statement, though Kevin half expects it as he continues, "Whatever your issues are, you either need to give me something to go on or tell me to back the fuck off."

His voice feels thick and wrong in his throat, and even in his peripheral vision he can tell Lee's expression is a cautious, calculated wall of blank.

"This whole back and forth thing we keep doing?" Kevin mutters tiredly. "It's killing me, man." Hyperbole, sure, but Kevin knows he can't keep doing this. He also knows he's in too deep. He can't walk away unless Lee lays it out for him, stark and unmistakable.

But Lee is silent, and a moment later he averts his gaze, stare slipping from Kevin's face to drift across the sprawling grounds. Kevin turns his head now, eyes narrowing, and he sees the tick of muscle as Lee clenches his jaw. Lee's eyes are intense as he stares at nothing in particular, and despite the casual way his hands fill his pockets, Kevin can see the tension collecting in his shoulders.

"Is it the fact that I'm a man?" Kevin finally asks. Because hell, if Lee's going to call him out in the middle of the biggest social event of the year, Kevin is damn well going to return the favor.

"I won't pretend that's not part of it," Lee admits, after a long pause.

"But?" Kevin presses, sensing that there's more.

"But you've also made it pretty clear you're interested in more than just a casual fling."

"So?" Kevin blinks as confusion crosses his face.

"So the last time I seriously considered monogamy, the woman I was in love with married someone else _and_ turned out to be working for the KGB."

Oh. Right. Kevin has done his best not to think about Eva, but he can see how something like that might make a man a little gun-shy in the relationship department.

Kevin's not sure how to respond to that, though. Lee's obviously not looking for sympathy, and the sharp jealousy clawing to the fore of Kevin's thoughts now also won't help. He wants to protest that he would never hurt Lee that way. That he sure as hell isn't working for the enemy, and that Kevin's feelings will always be right there on display.

But Lee clearly knows all that already. It just isn't enough.

Kevin's chest feels tight and unpleasant as he asks, "You're saying you want me to back off?"

"I'm saying I don't know _what_ I want." The look on Lee's face—wide open and uncertain—tells Kevin just how difficult the words are to speak.

But it's not a rejection. Not by a long shot. If anything it's as close as Lee has ever come to admitting he feels more than a grudging interest in everything Kevin keeps offering.

Kevin feels suddenly unsteady, lightheaded with relief, and he takes a slow deep breath as he watches Lee. Lee is still staring off into the distance, and with each passing moment he regains more control of his expression, until there's nothing there but the deliberately crafted blankness he wears so well on the job.

"Where does that leave us?" Kevin asks carefully.

Lee finally meets his eyes.

"I don't know," he admits.

For the moment, Kevin is shocked to realize, he's pretty sure he can live with that.


End file.
